Love Potion Number Nine
by ForzaDelDestino
Summary: Merlin makes a love potion for a nervous young knight and his apprehensive bride. Mayhem ensues when several others also help themselves to the brew. Comedy/drama/romance with just a little angst before the end. Merthur slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Merlin makes a magical love potion for a nervous young lord and his apprehensive bride-to-be. Mayhem ensues when several others also help themselves to the brew. Comedy/Romance, and just a little angst before the end. Not particularly graphic, but rated M for safety. Arthur/Merlin SLASH._

_For those who don't recognize the title, "**Love Potion Number 9**" is the name of a _very_ old rock and roll ditty, written in 1959, which has been covered between then and now by countless bands and soloists. (Perhaps most recently by Robert Plant in 2009.)_

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**Chapter 1: The Potion**

It was all Merlin's fault, naturally.

As usual, he only had been trying to help. If he had stopped to think about it, he would have remembered Gaius' numerous warnings _not_ to use magic for anything other than the direst of emergencies, like saving Arthur bloody Pendragon's life, for example, or rescuing Uther Pendragon from the arms of a trollish wife (not that he deserved rescuing, mind). In this case, nobody needed rescuing-at least, not at first.

He even might have remembered Gaius' second-favorite warning, one that he applied to everything from recipes for cough syrup to legal documents and official edicts: _always read the fine print_.

It all started when Guinevere made an unexpected visit to Gaius' workroom for some of the sleeping medicine he made for her mistress, the Lady Morgana. (It had become apparent to everyone in the royal household that the poor girl's nightmares were worse than usual these days.) As it happened the court physician was out; he had gone down to the cellars where he stored certain imported herbs and spices, but Merlin was busy at his worktable, grinding peppercorns into a fine powder that was making him sneeze.

When Gwen asked him for an extra bottle of sleeping potion, Merlin asked her, through his sniffles, why she needed it, and for whom.

"It's for Lady Linnet," Gwen replied, sighing. "You know, the pretty girl who just arrived at court. She's to be married tomorrow, and she's terrified, poor thing."

"She's marrying young Sir Gareth," said Merlin knowlegeably, hunting for a handkerchief. "His father's a local baron. But Gareth's one of the kindest of the newly-knighted squires-I should know, he's the only one of Arthur's knights who doesn't make fun of my ears-and he's good looking as well, or so all the girls say. Why should she be terrified?"

"She hasn't seen him since she was five years old and they were betrothed, that's why," Gwen murmured. "She doesn't know him, and he doesn't know her. I know that's the way the gentry do things, but I think it's cruel. He's extremely nervous, and she's truly frightened."

When Merlin looked bewildered Gwen stamped her foot with exasperation.

"Merlin, for pity's sake! Don't you know anything about, uh, what a...oh, I don't mean to be indelicate, but...you know, what a couple does on their wedding night?"

Well, of course he knew. It was natural that he should know about the facts of life-what country boy didn't? But why should the Lady Linnet be frightened about something troubadours and poets were constantly alluding to as the most blissful thing in the world?

Gwen threw up her hands with frustration at his ignorance and stalked off with the two bottles of sleeping potion.

In the end, he had to go to Gaius for enlightenment, and what followed was a mildy embarrassing exchange. No, he was not asking Gaius about these things for personal reasons. Yes, he knew all about the birds and the bees. No, he did not need to have The Talk. Yes, he had once gone through Gaius' library and read everything Aristotle and all those other dead Greek and Roman chaps had to say on the subject of, erm, reproduction-but certain differences between a man's experience and a woman's were still a bit of a mystery to him.

Once Gaius had stopped guffawing into his ale, he sat Merlin down and showed him some anatomical charts.

"I already know all that stuff," Merlin protested.

"Then what is it, precisely, that you're asking me?" asked Gaius, beginning to sound as exasperated as Gwen.

"Why should Lady Linnet be so frightened about her wedding night that she's asking Gwen for some of Morgana's sleeping potion?"

"Ah!" said Gaius, and proceeded to explain one major difference between a man's virginity and a woman's.

"Oh," said Merlin, a little shocked. "It's no wonder she's upset."

"I'm surprised you didn't take this question to Arthur."

_Arthur?_ Merlin would be about as likely to take this sort of question to Arthur as he would be to march into Uther's throne room stark naked and tell him all about his magic whilst juggling two plates in the air, blindfolded. If he was uncomfortable talking about the facts of life with Gaius, how much more uncomfortable would he be if he were talking about them with that insufferable prat of a crown prince, who would fix him with those incredibly blue eyes, grin sardonically with those full, dusky pink lips, and, _damn it to bloody hell_, call him an idiot as usual.

"I fancy Arthur could tell you just about anything you wanted to know on the subject of, well, _ladies_."

"Erm, I'd really rather not have to ask him, if you don't mind," muttered Merlin uncomfortably.

"It's simply one of those experiences women have to endure that we don't," Gaius went on as Merlin forced himself to stop thinking about Arthur by envisioning unpleasant things, like those disgusting leeches his elderly guardian sometimes used in his medical work.

"What makes it worse, naturally, is the fact that she scarcely knows the boy," Gaius added a moment later.

"Poor girl," Merlin said absently, his mind already moving on to other matters, like how to get out of cleaning Gaius' leech tank.

"Just be grateful you don't have to worry about any such thing, yourself," Gaius murmured in a fatherly voice. "Now, about that wretched leech tank..."

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Later that afternoon, Merlin was sitting in the courtyard trying to look inconspicuous (lest someone ask him why the crown prince's manservant was lolling about doing nothing), taking deep breaths of fresh air and recuperating from his ordeal with the leech tank, when he caught sight of Gwen making her way across the paving stones. She was, in fact, carrying a basket laden with embroidered fabrics and walking behind a pretty, red-haired young woman in a gown of finespun green wool, a gold necklace around her throat and a small jewel danging from each ear.

He had only seen the Lady Linnet once before and from a distance, upon her arrival at court, but he recognized her instantly. Now, he noticed, her face was pale and drawn, her expression anything but happy. Halfway across the courtyard, they encountered young Sir Gareth, who bowed to his lady and kissed her hand, but otherwise looked anything but delighted with the idea of their upcoming union.

"You see," Gwen said to Merlin when she returned to the courtyard, having escorted Lady Linnet to her chamber. "She's miserable just thinking about her wedding. Oh Merlin, it's so unfair! She's such a sweet girl, and now she's stuck with that po-faced boy for life."

"He's not po-faced, Gwen, he's just a bit shy," Merlin said defensively. He rather liked Sir Gareth, who had always treated him, as well as the other servants, with a gentle courtesy. "And if you ask me, he looks just as apprehensive as she does."

For whatever reason (perhaps she was concerned about her own matrimonial prospects) Gwen was clearly in a very bad mood. She strode out of the courtyard not long after, making the excuse that she had to see to a torn hem on the gown that Morgana was wearing to the wedding ceremony.

As soon as Gwen had disappeared, Merlin stood up, stretched, and walked back to Gaius' workroom.

"I've got to go down to the lower town for some supplies, my boy," the silver-haired physician announced as Merlin came in. "You'll keep an eye on those medicines, won't you, while I'm gone?"

He jerked his chin in the direction of several small pots simmering on the hearth, and Merlin nodded vigorously, but as soon as Gaius had made his exit he raced to his little room, where he carefully unearthed his book of magic from its hiding place, and turned to the pages marked "love potions."

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It took a great deal of skimming through various recipes and arcane spells, some inscribed in a very crabbed and shaky script, before Merlin finally found the type of potion that he wanted. The instructions for preparing this concoction-the ninth-were quite lengthy, although fortunately written in large letters and a bold, firm hand. There were also various postscripts in much finer, smaller writing that Merlin did not bother to read.

According to the description, this was a powerful love potion designed to awaken both desire and romantic affection in the hearts of whoever drank it. It tasted like blackberry wine, and was guaranteed (by no less than three venerable wizards from three different countries, who had written glowing testimonials) to work like a charm. One full goblet, drunk by both the gentleman and the lady in question, resulted in a _lifetime_ of love (carnal _and_ spiritual) and devotion.

If any potion remained after the couple had drunk their fill, it could be diluted with wine. The _diluted _potion, if consumed, produced a much milder effect: the drinker would simply experience three nights of passionate longing for the first person upon whom he or she set eyes after drinking it.

Merlin found a large bowl and then rummaged through Gaius' stores of herbs, flowers, tinctures, and elixirs to make certain he had everything he needed before setting to work. The potion was not particularly difficult to make, although the number of ingredients was astounding. Once they had been infused together and then heated, they turned a most remarkable shade of blue-almost the color of that prattish prince's eyes-and Merlin held the heavy bowl steady whilst he carefully recited the required spell: _drincan...lufu...aefre.*_

The mixture bubbled and sizzled, and its color suddenly settled into the dark reddish-purple of a good, well-aged wine. Merlin poured it hastily into a flagon, tied a piece of leather over the top to protect it, and hid it in his room. It would hardly do to allow anyone to find it. If King Uther were to hear of it, it would mean his head on the chopping block, or a very thorough and very public roasting. And if Arthur were to hear of it...well, perhaps he wouldn't have Merlin executed, but he would certainly be horrified to know that his manservant was a sorcerer, and would almost certainly send him away. The thought of which Merlin found he could not bear, impossible, arrogant, supercilious, overbearing prat that the crown prince often was.

Besides, it was his destiny to remain by the prince's side to protect him, wasn't it?

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Gaius kept Merlin busy for the rest of the afternoon, running errands in the lower town and then delivering medications to various inhabitants of the castle. He had barely enough time to see to the mucking out of Arthur's stable, wash up (it would not do to wait on the prince that evening smelling of horses), and bring yet another of Gaius' sleeping potions to Morgana's chambers. As none of these potions appeared to work very well, Gaius had fallen into the habit of creating a new one almost every other day.

"You'll be in attendance at poor Linnet's wedding tomorrow, won't you, Merlin?" Morgana asked the moment Merlin appeared. She said nothing about his having entered her room without knocking; this was something nearly everyone had gotten used to by now, with the exception of Uther.

"Of course he will," Gwen said, raising her eyebrows. "He doesn't have much of a choice, as Arthur will be there. But yes...poor Linnet."

Merlin reflected that things would be looking up for both poor Linnet and her groom, once they had drunk the love potion and were given a little privacy.

Gwen was engaged in brushing Morgana's long, dark hair, but she gave Merlin a little smile as if to apologize for her negative mood of the early afternoon. Merlin smiled back and set Morgana's sleeping medicine on the table by Morgana's mirror.

"I don't suppose this will work any better than the others," Morgana sighed, pressing her hands to her alabaster brow. "But you never know, and I don't want to hurt Gaius' feelings. Well, it's late, so you'd better be off, Merlin, and see to his lordship. Honestly, you'd think the boy would know how to undress and dress himself by _now_."

"Yes, wouldn't you," Merlin said somewhat acidly as he made his exit. He could hear both girls sniggering as he closed the door.

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"You're late," said Arthur dryly as Merlin skidded into the room, miraculously avoiding collision with the pieces of unpolished armour pointedly set out in the middle of the floor.

"Sorry, sire," Merlin replied automatically, locating the prince's night shift and draping it over the back of a chair near the hearth to warm it. The heavy window curtains were already partially closed (_did he actually do that himself?_) and all of the candles save those by the great canopied bed had been extinguished.

"I'll need the new embroidered tunic for that wedding tomorrow," Arthur muttered, kicking off his boots. "And you'll be in the official ceremonial garb of the-"

"_No_," groaned his manservant despairingly. "Not again! I thought-"

"No _Mer_lin, you didn't think, as usual," snorted the crown prince. His well-shaped mouth with its full lower lip was quirked upwards at one corner, and Merlin could see that he was making an effort not to laugh. "There's no way you can get out of wearing it. And the hat."

"I know you think it's funny, Arthur," Merlin replied grimly. "But you don't have to wear it."

Arthur made no reply but he grinned as he stationed himself near the carved stone hood of the fireplace and waited for Merlin to unfasten his shirt.

The process of preparing the prince for bed had become second nature to Merlin, and he made short work of it, unfastening the leather belt, unlacing the shirt, and then lifting it over Arthur's head. Arthur unlaced his trousers himself, letting them fall in a heap as Merlin courteously averted his eyes, and, stepping out of them, held up his arms so that Merlin could pull the fine linen night shift, now properly warmed, down over his muscular shoulders.

Merlin gathered up the fallen articles of clothing and bundled them under his arm to add to the pile of laundry he would have to see to the following morning.

"I'll want a bath tomorrow, early," Arthur said absently, as he squinted at the fire in the hearth. "At dawn. Before the wedding."

"Yes, sire," said Merlin, edging towards the door and wondering how he could budget his time so as to see to the laundry _and_ prepare the prince's bath. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, Merlin," replied Arthur, yawning and pushing his fair hair back from his brow. "Just be certain your official tunic is clean and pressed, or you'll have my father after you with a horsewhip."

"What you mean is, he'll order someone else to come after me with a horsewhip," muttered Merlin. "Could I at least go without the hat?"

"Sorry," Arthur said with a smile that was also a bit of a smirk. "Father insists on it. All of the servants will be in ceremonial attire; it seems the Lady Linnet's family carries more prestige than poor old Gareth's. Even if that wasn't the case, you could hardly go to a wedding looking like _this_."

His eyes raked his young manservant from the cap of unruly black hair to the toes of his scuffed brown boots, taking in the coarse homespun linen shirt and brown jacket that hung loosely on his exceedingly slender frame, and that ridiculous, annoying neckscarf, faded and shredding along the edges, carelessly draped but calling attention to a long, pale throat.

"In other words, it's better to look a laughing stock," Merlin was saying with resignation.

"Oh stop whinging, Merlin, you idiot," the crown prince snapped, his tone of voice suddenly going from amused to sullen. "Bad enough that I'm going to have to look at Gareth's gloomy face tomorrow."

"I take it he doesn't want to get married either."

"What do you mean by _either_? But no, I don't think he does. He's barely acquainted with the girl." Merlin could hear a kind of slow-burning anger in Arthur's voice. He was no doubt thinking of his own future, when he would be handed over in marriage to some young woman of his father's choosing.

"Now get out; I'll see you tomorrow at dawn, sharp," he added, turning away from Merlin with a scowl and stalking to the window, where he propped his elbows on the sill and peered at the dark night sky through the narrow opening in the drapes.

As Merlin descended the stairs, the bundle of Arthur's clothing under one arm and bits of his armour under the other, it occurred to him that the crown prince's stellar good looks and military prowess did little to make up for his utter lack of consideration with regards to his overworked manservant.

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* _I apologize for my misuse of Old English vocabulary._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Wedding Feast**

"He's rather pretty, your servant boy," Lady Petronilla said coyly to Arthur, and the prince rolled his eyes.

"Debatable," he said dismissively, and it was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes, albeit behind Arthur's back.

The wedding banquet was lavish. Bride and groom were seated at the high table, next to the Lady Morgana, and a multitude of dishes was being paraded down the center of the banquet hall. An enormous bride cake had been placed before the young couple, and wine was flowing freely at the lower tables. But it was not yet time for the bride and groom to drink their spousing toast.

Merlin had risen before dawn, and although he quietly used his magic to see to Arthur's armour and deal with the small mountain of laundry, he nearly had been late to prepare the prince's bath. Fortunately, Arthur appeared to be in a much better mood, immensely diverted by the sight of Merlin in his official, ceremonial garments, his face partially obscured by the feathers of the precariously perched hat, and he was smiling when they reached the castle chapel in time for the ceremony. Linnet, ashen-faced in a red gown, and young Gareth, pale in a dark green tunic and hose, said their vows shortly after the sun had risen, and walked soberly into the courtyard to the cheers of the castle folk and townspeople waiting outside. The newlyweds did not disappoint them, scattering coins and sweetmeats across the paving stones. Trumpets sounded from the battlements, although the musicians were evidently sleepy, or their throats were muffled with morning fog, for the music that came from them was dreadfully out of tune.

"Good job it's not _your_ wedding," Merlin had said under his breath. "Or the king would have their heads."

"Shut up, _Mer_lin," Arthur had replied amiably, his eyes on those nodding feathers. He even smiled broadly, so that his eyes crinkled at the corners in the manner Merlin always found irresist...annoying.

Arthur smiled through most of the feast, until that unfortunate comment by the Lady Linnet's father, addressed to Uther not long before the second pass of the silver wine ewer: "Be certain, my lord, that we will all be present when the time comes to celebrate the nuptual of your son and heir. And may that be soon."

The crown prince's mouth had instantly turned down at the corners, and when Lady Petronilla smiled sweetly at him and complimented him on his manservant's looks, the frown only deepened in intensity.

"Debatable," he repeated. "I mean, honestly!"

Merlin rolled his eyes toward the ceiling again. He was perfectly aware that he wasn't about to win any court beauty contests (Arthur had made enough disparaging comments about awkward elbows, bony knees and scruffy hair, not to mention _his ears_), but he was also aware that he had admirers. The Lady Petronilla was one of them. She had never said as much to him, but he had caught her watching him out of the corner of her eye, and on the few occasions that she had spoken to him, her gaze had lingered on his face (and on his mouth in particular) in a manner that made him uncomfortable. Then there was Sir Owain, who was known to take his pleasure with the servants, when they were willing. He had spent the previous year hovering around one of the young milkmaids in the castle dairy. This year, he had been making eyes at Merlin. He was a well-mannered young knight, who would never have dreamed of propositioning anyone openly unless he knew the object of his desire shared his feelings, and he had never gone further than to sigh dreamily whenever Merlin filled his wine cup or brought him a message from the crown prince. However, he had taken to writing love poetry ("Ode to a Pair of Azure Eyes," "Lily-Pale with Midnight Hair," and _worst of all_, "Sweet Lips Made for Kisses") on scraps of parchment and leaving them in places where he knew Merlin would find them. It was becoming really embarrassing.

There were several rosy-cheeked scullery maids and even a few of the well-born ladies-in-waiting of the court who had made their interest known to Merlin, but he had never really felt inclined to take them up on their implied invitations.

He might not have Arthur's classically chiseled features and athletic physique, but it was obvious, even though difficult for him to acknowledge, that his appearance-long limbed, dark haired, with a creamy pale skin, full lips, and changeable blue eyes above a striking set of cheekbones-was pleasing to many.

Trumpets sounded again, although this time they were in tune, and Merlin realized that it was time for the bridal toast. He had abandoned that travesty of a feathered hat, praying Uther wouldn't notice, and now he stepped forward from his place behind Arthur, and topped the prince's cup from one of the silver ewers that were used only at the high table. (Pottery pitchers fulfilled the same purpose at the lower tables.) Then he reached behind him for the love potion (smuggled into the banquet hall earlier, poured into one of the silver ewers, and hidden behind a pile of rushes), and filled two goblets for the bride and groom.

The recipe and spell for the love potion had been inscribed on a loose piece of vellum that had not been bound into Merlin's precious book of magic, but rather, sat loosely betwen two pages. He had therefore removed it from the heavy volume, folded it carefully, and put it in a pocket he had sewn into the lining of his official surcoat. That morning, he had reread the basic description of the potion and its results, not bothering to pay any attention to the postscripts. According to the primary description, once the spell took effect the eyes of both bride and groom would show faint sparkles of gold, noticeable only if one looked carefully, until the moment when their marriage was consummated.

Uther was making a speech, which was thankfully brief, and the assembled company raised goblets in a hearty toast to the young couple. Merlin watched, eagle eyed, as the pair drank from their goblets of finely chased silver, and sighed with relief to see that they had downed the entire contents.

Everybody cheered, and the musicians at the other end of the hall struck up a merry tune, a bit heavy on the shawms and rebecs. Morgana embraced Linnet, and Arthur thumped Gareth energetically on the shoulder. Uther kissed the bride's hand, smiled at her, and then looked around for his wine cup. Finding it empty, he gestured to Merlin, who still held the silver wine ewer in his suddenly shaking hand.

"Bring that here, boy!" Uther shouted jovially, and Merlin froze. Uther _could not_ drink that potion. He would fall in everlasting love with Lady Linnet, try to take her from his young vassal. Gareth's father would intervene, and there would be civil war in Albion.

Standing on Uther's other side was old Geoffrey of Monmouth. What would happen if the king looked at him after drinking the potion Merlin did not even want to think about.

"S-sire," Merlin stammered, glaring at the contents of his ewer and stepping backward. "You can't drink this, there's...there's...there's a spider in it."

"A what!" Uther said, scowling. "Well for God's sake, boy, pour it out on the midden and fetch some more!"

Arthur snorted behind his goblet, wearing his _what-else-would-you-expect-from-an-idiot-like-Merlin_ look.

Merlin nearly ran down to the far end of the hall, seized another silver ewer from a passing servant, and filled it with wine from the barrel just outside the door of the hall. At a loss as to what to do with the remains of his potion, he surreptitiously dumped it into a pottery pitcher from one of the lower tables. The pitcher still contained a fair amount of wine, the scent of which effectively disguised the blackberry aroma of Merlin's love potion.

Shoving the pitcher under a chair, he hastened back to the dais and the high table, where he poured wine into Uther's goblet and then set the ewer down on the table with a thud to hide his trembling. Steadying himself against the table, he watched as couples rose and took their places in the center of the room. Older folk, sluggish and sleepy after a meal of massive proportions (Lady Linnet's father was complaining of indigestion) looked on. The musicians began a lively estampie, and the newly married pair moved to the head of the row of dancers. At the same time, there was a general rush of young women towards the high table, in the hopes of claiming their first dance with the handsome blond heir to the throne of Camelot. Merlin kept his eyes on the newlywed couple as they passed by in the dance. They raised their eyes, smiling, to each other as they circled and bowed, and Merlin was able to catch a glimpse of faint gold sparkles that suddenly lit up the darkness of their pupils, a sure sign (according to the description) that a lifetime of love was guaranteed. Satisfied that his plan had worked and his potion had taken effect, he drew a deep breath and retreated to the wall, leaning against the cool stone to relax.

But not for long. A loud noise caught his attention, and that of others. Uther's elite bodyguard, a cadre of six highly skilled knights, was clattering about loudly at the other end of the hall. They were laughing at some lewd joke or other being told by Sir Fulke (their leader), banging their sword hilts on the table and stamping their feet. The king frowned at them and they quieted down respectfully, but as soon as his attention turned elsewhere they were at it again.

"They're dead drunk," said Arthur, looking down his nose. At the high table, Morgana (who had refused to dance with anybody) and Gwen (who was stationed behind her) were glaring disdainfully in their direction. It was apparent that Uther had selected his bodyguards purely for their fighting ability, with refinement of character hardly a necessary quality.

Their goblets had gone dry, and they were looking about for a pitcher of wine. With a start, Merlin remembered the diluted potion in the pitcher under a chair, and he was just heading in their direction when Sir Fulke (who had been loudly comparing the size of his cock to that of Uther's prize stallion) gave a triumphant shout, leant over and straightened up again with the clay pitcher in his hand. Before Merlin could reach him, blurting out a warning _not to drink that stuff because it was full of...of _s_piders_, he had poured dollops of the contents into several cups which were instantly hoisted by his companions. Sir Fulke himself guzzled his share out of the pitcher, as the other bodyguards looked on and laughed.

Well, it was the _diluted_ potion, so no permanent harm was done...still, if he remembered correctly, there would be three days and nights of intense passion for the first person they saw. Merlin swallowed hard, and as their heads turned in his direction he dove under the nearest table before they could properly clap eyes on him, not wanting to become the victim of a drunken knightly gang rape.

Consequently, the bodyguards ended up staring quizzically at one other, muttering things like, "Erm, who was that?" and "What was he tellin' us? Spiders?" and "What was that silly bloke on about anyway?"

Seconds later, they were grinning slyly into each other's eyes (which now glimmered with tiny golden sparkles), and their conversation sounded something like, "I fancy a stroll in the courtyard, what about you?" and "By God, Gilbert, I never noticed how muscular your neck is," and "There's no moon tonight, is there? Nice and dark outside, innit? A little stroll might be just the thing." All six were pellmell out the door before Uther could take any notice of them

In a panic, Merlin seized the discarded pitcher, raced down a hallway until he found an open window, and then flung the contents outside and into a flowerbed.

When, not ten minutes later, he was sent across the courtyard to Gaius' workroom to retrieve the physician's best cure for severe indigestion, he passed the royal stables and was alarmed to hear a clamour within. Peering through the partly opened door, he could see the six knights of Uther's bodyguard, still howling with laughter, in the hayloft above. Even though they were barely visible in the-fortunately-very dim light of a single lamp, it was clear what they were up to. Roars of approval were greeting Sir Fulke's display of his equine proportions. Tunics, followed by hauberks, vambraces and spurs went flying all over the place. Merlin ducked as a gauntlet soared past his head.

Feeling mildly queasy, he made his way back to the banquet hall, flask of indigestion cure in hand, and presented it to Uther, who graciously shared it with Sir Gareth's groaning father. Then, ducking behind the king's high-backed gilded chair for privacy, he drew the love potion page out of his hidden pocket and reread the description of its effect. Yes, the diluted potion produced a mere three-day, three-night infatuation. (_Heaven help the stablehands when they see what I saw, tomorrow morning_, Merlin thought.)

Then, for the first time, he read the very first of the smaller-print postscripts, not an easy task as it had been inscribed with a careless hand. It informed the reader that once the three days were over, the potion drinkers would completely forget everything that had happened during the brief period of intense desire.

"Well, that's a relief," Merlin said aloud. Uther's bodyguards would be spared the humiliation of knowing what besotted fools they (and most particularly the oversized Sir Fulke) had made of themselves, larking about naked _in the hayloft_.

Dancing was over, and the revelers had risen from their tables, some already heading for the door. Lady Linnet was being escorted to the bridal chamber by a group of chattering maidens, and Merlin was gratified to see that she was smiling and blushing prettily, her doe eyes turning towards Sir Gareth before she disappeared in a crowd of women and young girls. Gareth himself looked inordinately pleased as his fellow knights slapped him on the back and roared out the usual bawdy wedding jokes.

Arthur was still at the high table, his cheeks faintly flushed, but he didn't look any drunker than he usually was at such feasts, and Merlin supposed that getting him upstairs to his room wouldn't be too much of a hardship. When the prince gestured to him, he walked quickly to Arthur's side and dutifully provided a shoulder to lean on as they made their way down the length of the room towards the door.

"You'll be relieved to know, Merlin, that there will be no, hic, sword practice tomorrow," the crown prince murmured, stumbling only slightly and tightening his grip on his manservant's shoulder. They passed the place where Uther's bodyguard had left their empty goblets strewn across the table, and then, suddenly, Arthur's arm shot out and he lifted a partially filled cup...one of the bodyguards hadn't quite finished his drink.

"Last one," he said in a faintly slurred voice, and downed the quarter cupful of diluted potion before Merlin could strike it from his hand.

As he stared, horrified, at the empty goblet, he heard a giggle. The Lady Petronilla drifted past, hair fallen loose from its jeweled circlet, her eyes turning langorously in Merlin's direction.

Merlin groaned. Now, if Arthur were to be struck with a passion for her...

"Merlin."

He slid his eyes back toward the crown prince, only to find Arthur's intense stare fixed on his own astonished countenance. His mouth was curved in a little smile as his hot blue gaze swept his manservant from head to foot, before returning to his face. As Merlin gaped and then stared back, he saw the faint golden sparks, dancing like fairy lights, behind the pale sapphire of the prince's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Potion and What Came of It**

In Merlin's experience, there were several different kinds of drunks. There were the ones who became angry and belligerant. There were the ones who retreated into a kind of drooling self-pity. There were the sloppy drunks, who were incapable of walking and collapsed in a heap the moment they tried to stand up and stroll away from the table. By far the worst ones were the violent drunks, who lashed out at anything or anybody-including innocent bystanders like skinny manservants-without warning, for the sheer joy of inflicting pain. Oh, and the lecherous drunks, also unpleasant, who leered over the rim of their wine goblets and then attempted to slide a hand down the front of a servant girl's bodice, or down the front of a manservant's trousers or hose. Then there were the happy drunks, who became extremely jolly and friendly and slapped you on the back or leaned on your shoulder, and tried to tell jokes but always completely flubbed the punchline.

Arthur didn't quite fall into any of these categories. Prat though he was, he was never a violent, self-pitying, or lecherous drunk. Perhaps he was closest to being a happy drunk, although he didn't tell jokes or become excessively jolly. He simply became rather companionable and a touch less supercilious. Under normal circumstances, that is.

Just now, however, he had swallowed a mouthful of diluted love potion, and for the next three days and nights the object of his desire was going to be...

Merlin didn't want to contemplate this, because it made him dizzy with apprehension. And because he was going to have to find an excuse to hide for three days, until the effects of the potion had dissipated.

Perhaps the power of the potion itself had worn off? Did magical love potions have some kind of a shelf life? If he was lucky, Arthur hadn't drunk enough for it to be effective anyway.

But those miniscule gold motes were dancing in the blue of the prince's half-closed eyes.

"Merlin," the prince said again, and even his voice sounded a little different. Less abrupt and authoritarian, with deep, crooning undertones. "Don't stand there staring like an idiot. You know you have to help me get upstairs."

"Erm," said Merlin helplessly, staring about the room. "I'll ask Sir Leon's squire to give us a hand, shall I?"

"Don't be such a girl," Arthur replied with a touch of his normal asperity. "You've never had any difficulty before."

And he tightened his grasp on Merlin's shoulder, pulling him towards the door.

Going up the stairs and down the corridor to Arthur's chamber was less of a balancing act than Merlin had thought it might be, as the prince wasn't inordinately drunk and was able to put one foot in front of the other without staggering. He kept his hand on his manservant's shoulder, however, and once they were through the door and Merlin was turning to make his escape, the grip tightened again as Arthur spun him around so that they were face to face.

"I really do think," he said, in that peculiar, spell-induced croon, "that I'm going to need assistance with this ridiculous tunic."

The faint light from the fire in the hearth - Merlin had forgotten to bank it properly, earlier, and it was on the verge of going out - glimmered golden on Arthur's fair hair and the gold threads in the embroidery of his tunic. He looked too beautiful for words. His eyes blinked twice, almost sleepily, before he reached out and put one hand on the back of Merlin's head, and then pulled him in to kiss him.

Merlin hadn't seen it coming - at least, he hadn't seen it coming quite this fast - but he automatically tilted his head slightly so that their noses wouldn't collide. Arthur kissed very sweetly, and he tasted sweet - wine and almonds? - and Merlin didn't fight him, didn't want to fight him. Instead, he stood quite still, hypnotized by the warmth of Arthur's mouth, the plumpness of his lower lip, the touch of Arthur's fingers on his face, brushing along his jawline and then down his throat, stroking the nape of his neck, and then burying themselves in his hair. After a moment's hesitation, he kissed back, nibbling lightly on that delectable lower lip, and his arms slid around the prince's neck almost before he was aware of what he was doing.

As soon as the awareness hit home, he shivered and then lowered his arms, pushing himself away from Arthur. Because it wasn't right...Arthur was under the spell (however temporary) of a love potion, and to take advantage of him, or to let Arthur take advantage of _him_, was morally wrong, ethically unsound, it was everything Gaius had told him was wro-

Arthur kissed him again.

"Arthur," Merlin said five minutes later, attempting to break free of the prince's embrace. "I think we should stop now."

"You kiss quite nicely, Merlin," the prince murmured into his hair.

In spite of Arthur's current state of enspellment, or whatever the word was, Merlin supposed that this might be true. He had had a bit of kissing experience during the year or so before he'd left Ealdor, doing the things young people usually do in barns and behind haystacks. In Merlin's case, that meant sharing a lot of frenzied and clandestine kisses with two or three of the local girls, but really not much else. (In a small community like Ealdor, it would have been difficult, not to mention risky, to go all the way with any unmarried maiden.) Hilda, the shepherd's daughter, had told him he had the softest lips she'd _ever_ kissed, and he had been so flattered that he completely forgot to ask her just how many boys she'd snogged before she got round to him.

Whatever his abilities as a kisser, there was no doubt in his mind that Arthur was far more skilled. He had a very effective twist, flutter, curl, and probe thing going with his tongue that would appear to indicate a good deal of experience.

Arthur's kissing was so distracting that Merlin didn't realize he was being maneuvered backwards to the foot of Arthur's bed until they actually got there.

His calves suddenly made contact with the carved wooden bedstead, and he tumbled backwards in an ungainly tangle of crimson tunic and long legs, his back hitting the mattress with a thump that effectively jolted him out of his dazed state.

"Arthur," he said firmly, glaring at the prince who was now standing over him. "You're not going to make me do anything I, erm, shouldn't."

"Noooo," Arthur purred. "I'd never force myself on someone unwilling."

"But...I _am_...I mean, I-"

"Of course you're not," Arthur said crossly, suddenly sounding like his normal self. "I've watched you, _Mer_lin, and I've _seen_ you watching _me_, and I can tell that you find me attractive."

"I'm not going to _lie_," Merlin said with as much dignity as he could muster whilst sprawling flat on his back in the crown prince's bed. "But it's beside the point, whether I think you're attractive or not. It's-_wait_!"

Arthur might have been drunk, but his legendary hand-eye coordination was still quite good. His fingers were unlacing and unfastening and pulling at Merlin's dreadful ceremonial garments with remarkable dexterity, and the offending clothes were gone almost as quickly as Merlin could have magicked them away.

"This is absolutely, bloody well consensual, _hic_. I can tell that you want me as much as I want you," the prince said conversationally as he set to work on his own elaborately tailored garment.

Apparently only lies would do. "I do _not_," Merlin said emphatically, trying to convince himself of this, and cover himself with the bedclothes at the same time. Emphatic or not, neither of them was even close to being fooled. Merlin had never been any good when it came to lying; and he was as transparent as glass when it came to his feelings.

"The _evidence _is right in front of my eyes," Arthur replied serenely. "And it's quite impressive for a scrawny country lad like yourself. I'd no idea...well, so much the better."

He let his fingers dance along the length of the evidence and smiled to see his young manservant catch his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes rolled upwards and his eyelids fluttered.

The royal trousers came off and Merlin turned his eyes away from any evidence the prince might be putting on show.

Seconds later his breath left his lungs in a sudden whoosh as the prince's body landed on top of his own, and his knees managed to wedge themselves between Merlin's. His lips were warm and wet against Merlin's throat, and then he pressed them over Merlin's mouth, and Merlin couldn't help it - he kissed back as hungrily as the prince was kissing him. He wanted..._oh God!_...he wanted Arthur so badly, but it wouldn't be fair. Arthur didn't really want _him _- that is, he only wanted him now because of the stupid bloody love potion, and if he were in his right mind there was no way that any of this would be happening.

He was conflicted, wracked with desire, and angry with Arthur - irrationally so, as _none_ of this was Arthur's fault - but much more angry with himself. So...he should at least try to protect his future king from the effects of a well-meaning experiment gone terribly wrong.

"Ar-Arthur," Merlin gasped, pushing ineffectually at the prince's chest. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"I don't?" Arthur murmured, smooth as cream. "Does _that_ feel like I don't know what I'm doing?"

"But you don't! It's...it's..." Merlin could not exactly tell Arthur that he was under an enchantment. He might as well go and stick his neck under the executioner's ax. "You really don't know what you're doing. I mean, you _do_ know what you're doing, but_-ow!"_

"Sorry," Arthur whispered, reaching one hand out towards the bedside table and fumbling about until he located the vial of lavender scented oil that was kept there for post-sword practice massages. "I forgot. Won't be a moment."

The crown prince required both hands to unstopper the bottle and apply the contents to himself, so as he did this, partly turning onto his side to facilitate things, Merlin made futile attempts to slide out from beneath his solid and muscular torso.

"There," said Arthur with satisfaction as he replaced the bottle. "Got it right this time, I think. Hold still, Merlin, you're not making this any-"

"_Ow!_" shouted Merlin indignantly, flinching. "Arthur, stop it! I'm telling you, you've got it all wrong."

"I have?" Arthur muttered, surprised. "No I haven't. Just a bit farther and it should be alright."

"That's not what I meant," groaned Merlin, gritting his teeth with frustration. He knew that he should do the right thing, but he couldn't very well use magic to get away from Arthur, and he didn't _want _to get away from him, because in spite of the unbelievable physical discomfort (which was actually becoming downright pain), the warmth of Arthur's skin against his, the strength of those arms around him, and the tickle of Arthur's breath against his ear were things he had only dared to dream about in the past.

Perhaps a censored, abbreviated version of the truth? "Arthur! You don't really want me, you don't, it's... it's…just...because...you...drank...this peculiar medicine...by accident, and, OH!" as Arthur pushed in to the hilt.

"There! Better now?" the prince asked, breathing fast but pausing to adjust his position before settling into an easy rhythm that picked up speed by degrees.

Merlin gave up trying to do the right thing.

("...Oh, Gaius is going to _kill_ me if he finds out. No! _Uther_ is going to kill me if _he_ finds out.")

All the while, he was mortified by the very embarrassing sounds that were coming from his mouth, muffled against the prince's shoulder. And what had begun as one of the most painful things he had ever experienced was rapidly becoming one of the most pleasurable. He shifted his hips experimentally and heard the prince moan. So he shifted them again.

The rest was a total blur of sensation, every nerve in his body screaming with a shocking, hitherto unknown ecstasy, the feeling almost akin to magic; his hands raking Arthur's back and then gripping his shoulder blades, the piston-like movements of Arthur's hips, the heat in their loins and the heat that built up between their moving bodies. The prince's hoarse "_Mer_lin!" as he reached his climax, his hands pulling Merlin upward. Merlin clenched his teeth and came without a sound, feeling his limbs suddenly go limp, tears of pleasure and release crawling down his cheeks.

They really were tears of release, not tears of pain, but he let Arthur think otherwise in the hope that he'd feel just a little guilty. Anyway, once they had both gotten their breath back, and the haze of passion had cleared, Merlin found that it was surprisingly comforting to have the crown prince hold him in his arms and whisper to him and caress him.

"That was your first time, wasn't it?" Arthur murmured after a while, turning over, pulling Merlin against his shoulder, and nuzzling his brow gently. "I'm sorry if it hurt a bit."

"How would you know if it was my first time or not, you smug prat?" Merlin snapped, his mind still in turmoil. "What makes you so sure I've never taken lovers? How do you know I'm not sleeping with Lady Petronilla? Or that I haven't given in to Sir Owain? Why, I might be a total man-whore for all you know."

Arthur roared with amusement at the thought of Merlin as a man-whore.

"The unicorn, _Mer_lin," he finally said, still sniggering. "After that whole bit with Anhora and the unicorn, I went to the library and asked Geoffrey of Monmouth for some books."

"_You_ went to the library? For some _books_?" Merlin would have hooted with laughter if he hadn't been so flustered.

"I'm not a mere sword-wielding thug, _Mer_lin, you clot," the prince replied, mildly affronted. "I read books all the time, rumor to the contrary. And I know about unicorns. They won't let anybody touch them but a virgin. They won't willingly approach anybody who isn't, shall we say, untouched? And that unicorn let you put your hand on it."*

"Before you shot it, you mean," Merlin muttered under his breath.

"Don't be an idiot," Arthur said, yawning heartily. "We made things right in the end with Anhora, didn't we? Anyway, _that's_ how I know, Merlin. I hope you don't regret that I was your first. Your only, because I'll be damned if I let anybody else have you. Don't look so put out, _you _can have a go tomorrow, if you want to. "

"_What!_" Merlin reflected that Arthur must be well and truly and thoroughly under a spell if he could actually countenance the thought of a manservant buggering the crown prince of Camelot.

"Arthur...I don't think...you don't...this isn't..."

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Arthur asked almost solicitously. "I don't think I was rough, although I _am_ very, uh, I mean, very _hugely_ endowed-uh, what was that?"

Merlin had mumbled something under his breath that sounded faintly like "_conceited prat_."

"It'll be easier for you the next time," Arthur said encouragingly.

"Next...what next time?" quavered Merlin, gripping the prince's arm. "You can't possibly-"

"Hang on," said Arthur cheerfully. "I'll be ready presently."

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Whether the potion made Arthur more potent than usual, or whether he was _always_ this potent, Merlin had no idea, but it seemed as though there were quite a few next times over the course of the night. And when Merlin woke the next morning, bleary-eyed, exhausted, and sore after perhaps two hours of sleep, he found the crown prince sitting up in bed next to him, looking slightly hung over but otherwise none the worse for wear.

This was amazing, given the fact that they had spent hours - almost until dawn - in each other's arms, twisting and turning in the rumpled sheets, arms and legs entangled, hands stroking and grasping, lips swollen from kissing. Perhaps the potion had restorative powers as well?

Merlin had serious doubts as to whether he could survive the two remaining nights of Arthur's enchantment in one piece.

He cleared his throat cautiously. "Arthur?"

The prince turned his head, looked at him, and actually smiled, something he virtually never did when Merlin came to his chambers in the morning to dress him. Then he lowered himself back onto the pillows and his hand reached out to gently stroke Merlin's hip.

"Arthur," Merlin said, and was appalled to hear the whimper in his voice. "I don't think I can, just now. I ache all over."

"You should just see your face," Arthur murmured with mock severity. "You've great dark circles under your eyes."

"I am one gigantic bruise," Merlin replied accusingly. "I can't move."

Arthur did not look particularly sympathetic, but he bent his head and kissed Merlin for a long time. Then he sat up, rolled out of bed, and looked about for his clothing.

"Very well," he said, pulling a tunic out of his wardrobe _all by himself_. "This afternoon then, before dinner. Meet me here."

"Are you actually going to dress yourself?" Merlin asked, raising his eyebrows. "Is this because you feel sorry for me?"

"I don't feel sorry one bit," Arthur said almost sharply, but his smile was tender. "And don't you pretend you're sorry about…about anything. God, I'm starving! Any breakfast coming?"

"I'll fetch it," grumbled Merlin, inching his way off of the mattress and reaching for his shirt. Arthur was a spoiled brat, Arthur was inconsiderate, Arthur was _gorgeous_. "Then I have to go see Gaius. He must think I've fallen down the well. Could you tell me where you threw my boots, please?"

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The midday meal was far more sober than the previous evening's feast had been. The wine was well-watered, and the portions of meat, fowl, fruit and bread were modest. Uther smiled benignly at the young couple, who were sitting, smiling and lost in each other's eyes, between the crown prince and the king's ward. At the other end of the table, the fathers of the bride and groom were talking about getting a hunting party together.

"Can you believe it?" Gwen whispered as she passed Merlin with a bowl of apples. "It's worked out for them after all! Don't they look as though they're in love?"

"Mmmmf," was the only affirmative sound Merlin managed to make. He had grown accustomed to making the impossible happen, and then never getting the credit for it, and at the moment he was so tired that he could only feel vaguely pleased that the newlywed pair would live happily ever after.

"Perhaps you will do us the honor of joining in the hunt this afternoon, sire?" Gareth's father was asking Arthur.

The prince was startled out of his reverie (he had lowered his eyes, the better to stare at his manservant through the screen of his eyelashes), but he bestowed a polite social smile upon both of the proud parents.

"Thank you," he said courteously. "And forgive me, but there are pressing matters I must attend to before nightfall."

He raised his eyes and his piercing gaze went straight to Merlin.

Merlin sighed and stepped backward as far as he could into the shadow of the wall. He had spent an hour in Gaius' workroom, listening to his elderly mentor's lecture on the stupidity of drinking too much cider, getting totally pissed, and passing out on the floor of the crown prince's chamber (the story he had prepared as an explanation for his absence). Afterwards, going to the stables to feed and water Arthur's destrier, he had caught a glimpse of the king's bodyguards fast asleep in a heap, in the hayloft above. Bits and pieces of their armour were still strewn haphazardly about.

As the meal drew to a close, the king rose to his feet and the assembled company did the same. He narrowed his eyes and stared to the left and right of his chair, looked up and down the hall, and then turned a puzzled frown on Sir Gawain, who happened to be in attendance.

"What's become of my bodyguards?" Uther asked, totally mystified.

Of course nobody knew except Merlin, and he was not about to inform the king that the six members of his elite troop were currently passed out from exhaustion in the hayloft.

The upshot was that Uther finally sent a squadron of knights out to search for his missing bodyguards, and they wasted a good two hours marching through the castle, the grounds, and the lower town before someone - Sir Leon - actually thought to look in the stables.

The knights returned to Uther's throne room and stood about looking sheepish and embarrassed until the king called them to order.

"Ahem," said Sir Leon uncomfortably, looking first at his feet and then at Uther's. "There appears to be an illness."

"By the gods," muttered Uther in astonishment. "An illness? They were all in good health yesterday."

"Well they - they're quite incapacitated, sire. Not fit for duty, not one of them. Perhaps the sickness will pass in a day or two. I wouldn't go near them, sire, it may be contagious."

If it was indeed some form of illness, Sir Leon thought, they had all better pray fervently that it was _not_ the contagious sort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Ask the Dragon**

Uther Pendragon considered himself a civilized man, and his realm a civilized kingdom, and he encouraged moral restraint within the boundaries of Camelot. He generally frowned upon promiscuity, and he likewise frowned upon intimate personal interaction between the nobility and members of the "lower classes." This included sexual arrangements between castle courtiers and castle servants, and although this didn't stop most young knights and junior lordlings from competing for the favors of pretty servant girls, they did so knowing that if they openly flaunted a socially inappropriate relationship, or if they were caught _in flagrante delicto_, they would face the king's displeasure.

The king's official attitude notwithstanding, it was understood that if a young nobleman - a prince, for example - wished to spend an hour or two in private with a willing chambermaid, Uther would turn a blind eye as long as nothing was ever made public. He was willing to cut his offspri...that is, a young knight, just enough slack to make certain that all of said knight's parts were in good working order.

Knowing the way his father felt about things, Arthur had always been extremely discreet. All of his partners were willing. There had been a few red-cheeked scullery maids, two or three ladies of the court (one of them married, and therefore even more discreet than he), and the occasional well-born youth (a squire or a newly-made knight). There had never been any reason to think about _manservants_. During the past two years, at least, Arthur had been _telling_ himself not to think about manservants.

He had ordered Merlin to meet him in his bedchamber an hour before dinner, and, knowing Merlin, he fully expected him to be late. On this occasion Merlin actually did as he was told and was on time, but in every other respect his behavior was typical: contradictory and anything but subserviant.

When someone was summoned to the prince's chamber for reasons other than the daily work routine, there was a certain etiquette to be followed. As a general rule, a chambermaid or squire or fledgling knight would acquiesce, silent, submissive, and grateful, to whatever royalty required of her/him. But Merlin had never been particularly good at submission, or at silence for that matter. Instead of offering the prince an obedient and compliant bed partner, he was ready with an argument the moment Arthur put out his hands to undress him.

"Arthur," he said, his voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt as Arthur pulled it over his head. "This isn't right."

"No?" asked the prince, and the tone of his voice was genuinely puzzled. (_That's because of the potion_, Merlin thought unhappily.) "Why not?"

"Well," Merlin managed to say as he stumbled out of the trousers Arthur had just pulled down around his legs. "For one thing, it isn't in my job description."

"We'll change the bloody job description then," Arthur replied with irritation as he yanked at the fastenings of his own tunic.

"For another," Merlin continued desperately, once again trying to do the honorable thing, "you're a _prince_. I'm a servant. I mean, even if you and I didn't think it was wrong, what would other people say?"

"I don't suppose we really need to tell anybody about it, do we?" came the unrepentant response. "Help me with these laces, Merlin, will you? They're full of knots."

"Your fa...the king will have me executed," Merlin blurted as he wrestled industriously with the knots in Arthur's laces. "Or at the very least, he'll exile me."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," was Arthur's absent-minded response as he finally slithered out of his tunic. "Come here, we only have an hour or so until dinner."

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At one point in their proceedings, Merlin remembered his first full day as Arthur's manservant, nearly two years ago, and how he had complained to Gaius about having to memorize so much tournament etiquette in a single afternoon. It had seemed to him, then, that he had never had to learn so much so quickly. Now he was having to learn a great deal in less than an hour's time. Not that it was terrible. When Arthur pushed him gently down onto his knees, it really...wasn't so terrible. In fact, once he was able to control the gag reflex...When, however, Arthur got down on _his_ knees not long after, it was almost too much for Merlin to take. (He himself was all for social equality - something he knew would never happen in his lifetime - but if Arthur were in his right mind, he would never kneel before a commoner, would he?) He felt better about things when they moved their activity to the bed, where the prince could no longer be said to be kneeling. Eventually they were face to face, exchanging long, breathtakingly slow, wet kisses that made them both dizzy, and when Arthur ran his tongue along the rim of Merlin's ear, and then nipped softly at the base of his throat, Merlin thought oh the hell with it, Arthur can do whatever he bloody well pleases with me.

As it happened, Arthur was very slow and gentle with him this time, for which he was grateful. After all, he had barely recovered from the events of the previous night.

Needless to say, they were late for the evening meal, and Uther frowned when Arthur took his place at the high table.

"It would seem that discipline is getting rather lax," he murmured under his breath, so that only Arthur and Morgana (who were seated on either side of him) could hear. "First all my bodyguards vanish, and are later found to be ill, probably as a result of eating and drinking far too much at the feast. Then Sir Gareth and his bride disappear into the forest for the entire afternoon, and are nearly mistaken for deer by their respective fathers during the hunt. Now my son and heir is woefully late to a state dinner. You will kindly put my knights through a double training session tomorrow morning, and you _will_ participate."

Arthur bowed his head in acknowlegement, although he was gritting his teeth, and he could hear Morgana stifling laughter behind her sleeve.

"I see that your manservant was late as well," Uther went on inexorably, his bad temper hardly assuaged. "Might I suggest a night in the stocks?"

"That won't be necessary," Arthur said stiffly, making an effort not to meet Merlin's eyes. "It was entirely my fault that he was late."

Uther subsided into a few moments of moody grumbling, but was soon cheered up by fulsome compliments on his lavish hospitality by the fathers of both the bride and groom. Sir Gareth and his new wife were sitting happily together next to Morgana, smiling at each other in a way that was making many a young noble envious. Arthur himself might have felt a touch of envy if he hadn't been so besotted with...besotted with..."Merlin, you_ idiot_, you've let my cup run dry again!"

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Later that evening, Arthur put a toe into his bathwater and found that it was only tepid.

"You are _half_ asleep today," he shouted wrathfully, and Merlin _half _expected to get a face full of water (as he had once before). What he got, seconds later, was the crown prince's tongue down his throat, and the two of them eventually found themselves in the bath, splashing suds all over and making a horrific din with their snorts of laughter and their groans of passion. Then they were on the floor, on a towel next to the tub, wrestling like schoolboys. It wasn't much of a contest - Arthur could have pinned Merlin with one arm tied behind him - but he was smiling as he let Merlin roll him onto his back and flop down on top of him, wet and slippery as a very thin seal.

It became clear that Arthur was going to make good on his offer of the night before, and they used a great deal of bath oil because Merlin was afraid of hurting him. But Arthur was remarkably stoic (perhaps his warrior training had something to do with it), and before long he came so enthusiastically that they had to get back into the tub and wash all over again.

Arthur didn't fall asleep until very late at night, by which time they were _both_ aching, and both barely able to move from exhuastion. Merlin waited until the prince's breathing settled into the rhythms of sleep, and then he slid carefully out of bed, dressed, and walked - no, staggered - quietly out of the room.

It took a while to make his way down to the stairs leading to the Great Dragon's prison, as a few merrymakers still lingered in the halls. Thankfully, all of the wedding-related festivites would be over after tomorrow. The guards at the top of the stairs to the cavern were fast asleep and snoring; Uther would have them flogged if he found out, but Merlin certainly wasn't going to tell him.

"You have a question, young warlock," the dragon stated flatly, the moment it laid eyes upon Merlin. "Yes, you always have a question. Never a message, or a statement, such as: _the time has come to free you, and I've come to do just that._"

"Erm, well," said Merlin, trying to sound consoling. "I've promised, haven't I? And I will, someday."

The dragon made a sound somewhere between a derisive sniff and a grunt of reluctant appreciation.

"I, I don't know how to say this," Merlin began, realizing too late that he hadn't figured out how to explain his situation without looking like, well, an idiot. "We...I...I made a love potion for somebody, and Arthur drank some by mistake. The diluted version, though," he added as he saw the dragon's eye ridges coming together in a frown vaguely reminiscent of Uther's.

"I see," the dragon replied, drily. "And who, may I ask, is the person with whom Arthur has fallen in love?"

"I don't know that I would exactly call it love," Merlin said evasively, the next words tumbling out in an awkward rush. "But it's...it's something. And it's supposed to go away after three days and three nights, but in the meantime, erm..."

The dragon's eyes lit up with comprehension, and it turned its head as though to groom the scales on its back. But Merlin could see the massive shoulders quivering, and the claws clenching and unclenching, and he realized that the great beast was laughing.

Before he could ask it to please, please stop, the dragon rolled over onto its side, its jaws opened wide, and gales of laughter echoed up and down the vast cave, startling bats from their perches and dislodging a few stalagtites.

"It isn't funny," groaned Merlin, rubbing his flaming cheeks with his fists. "And I know it will come out right for Arthur; he'll forget it ever happened after the three days are over. At least, that's what one of the postscripts said, and I reread it twice."

"In that case," the dragon responded, sitting upright with an effort and wiping enormous, pearly tears from its face with its claws, "what information can you possibly need from me?"

"I looked in my book of magic," Merlin managed to say, "to see if there's any cure in it for me. But I can't find even _one_."

"But you are not under a spell, young warlock," the dragon said reprovingly, its huge eyes still alight with mirth.

"No," whispered Merlin, lowering his eyes. "I'm not. But I can't help what I feel."

There was a pause.

"I see," said the dragon, and stopped sniggering. "I see. I am sorry, Merlin. But I'm afraid I cannot help you."

"I thought as much," Merlin said under his breath, glaring down at his boots. But he wasn't seeing them; what he saw, in his mind's eye, was Arthur's face, flushed and almost astonished, his lips parted and blue eyes widening and going oddly dark as he approached his climax.

"This does not truly surprise me," the dragon said tartly, breaking into his thoughts so that he nearly dropped his torch. "For, as I have always told you, you and Arthur are two sides of - "

"The same stupid, bloody coin, I know, I know!" Merlin shouted, suddenly feeling at his wits' end. He rather expected the dragon to be angry, but it continued to survey him with a mild expression and what looked alarmingly like approval.

"Your paths lie together, Merlin," it finally pronounced. "And whatever serves to bind you together can only be for the good."

"A lot of _good_ it's going to do me," Merlin muttered between his teeth. "But I suppose everything will be fine once Arthur's forgotten about this. I'm sorry for disturbing you. Good night!"

After ascending the many stairs to the ground level of the castle and bypassing the still-sleeping guards, Merlin ducked outside into the courtyard, for a breath of fresh air. The cool night breeze felt refreshing, and it occured to him that a little walk in the meadow might clear his head. There was nobody about, and it was pleasant to be able to stroll there on his own, without having to gather herbs for Gaius, or set up targets for the knights' archery practice, or don chainmail and a helmet so that beautiful wretch of a crown prince could practice his swordsmanship by knocking him flat about ten times in a row.

Some faint but unquestionably uncouth shouts reached his ears as he headed back towards the castle, and he turned in the direction of the little river that ran along the edge of the meadow, wondering who else could possibly be out at this hour.

The shouts were louder now, and Merlin could hear splashing. Moments later, and to his regret, he caught sight of Uther's bodyguards, still naked, still howling with laughter, wallowing in the shallows, covered with slimy weeds and frightening the waterfowl.

Merlin shuddered and covered his eyes with his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Second Postscript**

The third day of Arthur's enchantment dawned damp and slightly chilly, although the sun was bright. A lifetime of conditioning enabled him to tear himself away from the object of his desire, get out of bed, swallow some breakfast, and arrive at the training ground before any of his knights, after being helped into his armour by a very sleepy Merlin.

The crown prince followed Uther's orders, and led his and his father's knights through a double-session drill. This occupied him for a good part of the morning, enabling Merlin to crawl back under the covers and catch up on some much-needed sleep. Whilst Arthur was busy on the training ground, he even magicked himself a bath and scrubbed vigorously, washing the stickiness off of his skin and out of his hair, rinsing the fuzziness out of his mouth, and feeling much better by the time he climbed out of the water. Then he emptied the tub, magically refilled it for Arthur (who would doubtless return sweaty and cross), curled up on the bed and went to sleep again.

He awoke to Arthur's hand on his shoulder.

"It seems almost a pity to wake you," said the familiar voice, level and only mildly sarcastic. "But you _do_ realize that people will be assembling in the courtyard this afternoon to bid Gareth and his bride adieu?"

"Oh," said Merlin, sounding so confused and groggy that Arthur had to suppress a smile.

He had returned (sweaty and cross, as predicted) from drilling with the knights, all of whom had been complaining _sotto voce_ about Uther's incapacitated bodyguards, and how it wasn't fair that the king didn't have a spare set, and how they were all being forced to work twice as many shifts, and so on. (From their mumbling, between practice bouts, he had learned that the six knights had been found and dragged, protesting, to Gaius' infirmary, where they had been locked up ever since, with nobody daring, or _wanting_, to go near them.) Military exercises completed, he had returned to his chamber and found a steaming bathtub awaiting him (how did Merlin do that?) and his manservant fast asleep on the royal bed. Merlin had lain down curled into the fetal position, but now his limbs were flung wide like a starfish, his cheeks were faintly flushed, and his disheveled black hair stood up in tufts on his head. He had never looked so helpless or, thought the prince, swallowing, quite so irresistible. Particularly with that wide, full-lipped mouth, all pink and swollen from so much, yes, well...

"Sire!" came a voice from the hall, barely audible through the thickness of the bedchamber door.

"Oh hell," muttered Arthur and went to see who it was.

Who it was, was Sir Leon, and Arthur opened the door just a crack, so that one of the finest of his knights wouldn't be able to see Merlin, half awake and sprawled all over the prince's bed.

"Sire," said Sir Leon politely, staring a little because it was obvious that Arthur was trying to keep him from viewing _something_. "The king has asked that I, Sir Caradoc, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Lucan attend him today, as his bodyguards are still, uh, still, ahem, unfit for duty."

"I understand," replied Arthur, one hand still firmly on the door. "What's wrong with them?" Sir Leon mumbled something unintelligible, and behind him he heard a thump as Merlin slid out of bed. He saw Sir Leon's face change as he registered the sound, but he would assume, no doubt, that the prince had spent the night with one of the maidservants...now if only Merlin would have the wit to keep quiet until he had gone away...

"Thank you, Sir Leon," he said pointedly, and Sir Leon backed away from the door, his eyes full of questions, but knowing better than to actually _ask_.

Arthur shut and bolted the door, breathing a barely audible sigh of relief, and turned to find his manservant standing, fully clothed, by the tub, draping a towel over the back of a chair. Arthur cleared his throat purposefully, and Merlin stopped fiddling with the towel and began to help him off with his armour. Once all the metal plates and chainmail were off, lying in a shiny heap on the floor, he started in on the many laces of the padded shirt.

"Imagine having to do a double drill the morning after a feast," the crown prince muttered, wincing as he rotated his shoulders and flexed his arms. "It's inhumane." He dropped the padded shirt and kicked it out of the way.

"I suppose you're accustomed to it," yawned Merlin, dragging his eyes away from Arthur and attempting to focus his attention on the carved stone lintel of the fireplace. As there was no reply, he turned his gaze to the prince's face. "The bath's ready and I think it's still hot, if you're feeling stiff."

Arthur raised a meaningful eyebrow.

"No!" exclaimed Merlin in alarm. "What did I say? I meant, if you're feeling...that is...uncomfortable."

The crown prince smirked a little, but he stepped into the tub and sat down, sighing with pleasure as the hot water eased tension and aching muscles. Merlin washed his hair for him, and then stepped back, but Arthur reached out and took Merlin's thin wrist in a firm grip.

"For pity's sake, _Mer_lin," Arthur drawled. "I'm not going to bite. There's no need for you to look like a girl who's about to be ravished of her virtue."

"I don't think I have any virtue left to be ravished _of_," Merlin said honestly, but he stopped backing away and moved forward instead. They got Arthur's hair rinsed, and then Arthur handed Merlin the soapy washcloth, and twenty minutes later they still hadn't finished because the prince was doing everything in his power (thinking of trolls in wedding gowns, and spiders, and basilisks, and even the Questing Beast) to keep from coming too quickly.

Afterwards they had to make frantic haste to be on time for the midday meal, not wanting to anger Uther for a second day in a row. Merlin tidied himself and Arthur, and Arthur pulled his white linen shirt over his head by himself. The shirt went on backwards, however, causing Merlin to laugh uncontrollably, and Arthur cuffed him over the head and called him ten different kinds of idiot. ("That's no worse than being a supercilious, condescending, overbearing prat," Merlin replied with equanimity.) Most of their clothing was wet, and their hair was wet, but they were at the high table moments before the first course (roast boar) was set before the king and his guests.

"Is it raining?" asked Uther, puzzled, looking from the window to his son, and then to his son's manservant.

"Sudden downpour," Arthur muttered, sliding into his chair. "Only just stopped," he added, looking to Merlin for corroboration, and Merlin nodded his head vigorously.

"But it hasn't been raining at all," Gwen hissed at Merlin when she passed him with a bowl of frumenty for Morgana.

"Only just stopped," replied Merlin loftily as he hastened to Uther's side with a ewer of wine.

For this final gathering of the wedding festivities, most of the court had turned out to wish the young couple good fortune. The Lady Petronilla looked at Merlin rather regretfully as he walked by, and Sir Owain gave him a mournful glance (Merlin prayed that he wouldn't find yet another love poem fastened to his door, or tucked into the manger of one of the horse stalls). Morgana, richly clad in dark blue and sapphires, sat beside the newly wedded couple, whilst the fathers of the pair held places of honor on either side of the king. Arthur, splendid in his (damp) crimson jacket, made polite small talk with Sir Gareth's father, but he seemed restless and the fingers of one hand were drumming lightly on the table, never a good sign as far as his mood was concerned.

Perhaps, thought Merlin, the power of the potion was beginning to wear off. It was, after all, the third day, and only one more night remained.

With this in mind, he waited until he was sent from the hall with a message to Gaius (who had excused himself from attending). When he was safely out of sight, on the stairway to Gaius' workroom, he pulled the folded bit of vellum out of his pocket and ran his eyes down the lines of crabbed script until he reached the second postscript, which, like the other postscripts, was written in such a tiny hand that he hadn't bothered to read it before. It informed him that the spell of the diluted potion would be broken at sunrise after the third night. Until that time, the passion would remain strong. But all memories of the three days of desire would be eradicated instantly and irrevocably the moment sunlight touched the face of the enchanted individual.

Was there a chance it would rain and be cloudy tomorrow?

"What on earth is the matter, Merlin?" Gaius asked, opening the door at just that moment. "Why the doom and gloom? And why are you loitering on the stairs, does the king have a message for me?"

Merlin delivered his message (which was about Uther's allegedly ailing bodyguards) with only half his attention on what he was saying. Of course he knew of one solution to his problem, and if he were an unscrupulous, callous, and completely self-serving person, it would be easy enough to do. If he were all of those things, he could make another love potion, undiluted this time, and see to it that Arthur drank it. Arthur would love him forever, would love him until death. But he couldn't, _wouldn't_ do it. If he even considered it he would be exactly the sort of sorcerer Uther was always carrying on about. Evil. Immoral. Treacherous. Willing to manipulate another human being to suit his own needs.

"Merlin," said Gaius sternly. "Have you been doing anything you shouldn't?"

Merlin's blue eyes opened wide and he gave his elderly mentor the most innocent look he could come up with under the cirumstances.

"Really, Merlin," Gaius was saying in a very dry, rather scolding tone of voice. "Where were you last night? One evening passed out on the floor is perhaps understandable, given your age, but two? Or perhaps you were doing something else equally foolish? Make certain it doesn't happen again, I don't think Arthur would approve."

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Merlin," said Arthur reprovingly. He was running the tips of his fingers over Merlin's ribs, his other arm curled around Merlin's very pale and very slender torso. "You really must do something about this. I'm afraid I might break you in half."

"I'm stronger than I look," Merlin replied defensively. His own fingers traced the finely toned muscles of Arthur's shoulders and chest. Between the midday meal and dinner he had barely seen the prince, except for the moment when the castle folk gathered in the courtyard to bid Sir Gareth and his bride farewell. Gareth had fostered in Camelot, served as a page and then a squire, and had been knighted by the king only a few months before his wedding. Now he was returning to his father's barony, to be instructed in the running of the estate. He and his happily smiling young wife had ridden out of the castle grounds on their handsomely caparisoned horses, looking for all the world like doting lovers from a troubadour's soppy _chanson_.

"Have my bodyguards been restored to health?" Merlin had overheard Uther asking Gaius in a somewhat irritated voice as the newlyweds vanished beyond the portcullis, and Gaius's eyebrows had arched their way closer to his hairline as he shrugged his shoulders.

He and Arthur had been tangled together in Arthur's bed since an hour after dinner, and the sex had been fevered and intense. The thought that this was their last night of intimacy...that this was the last time that Arthur would want him, ate at Merlin's mind like a sickness, and made his heart ache, but he tried to put these thoughts aside, wound his arms around Arthur's neck and kissed him with a kind of desperation. The prince returned his kisses with great energy, and what with all this kissing they were now trembling and panting for the third time that night, and limp everywhere except where it was most important not to be.

Arthur's hands, large, shapely, and well-kept, were almost as hard and calloused as a farmer's from working with swords, spears, and other weapons on a daily basis. Where they gripped Merlin's hips, earlier, they had left faint purple marks on the milky skin. Now Arthur was making an effort to be careful, sliding them thoughtfully along the length of Merlin's thin frame before one of them closed around his erection, teasing his senses to the boiling point. Merlin caressed him back, watching his own fine-boned hands explore the pale gold surfaces of the prince's skin, and was rewarded by the catch in Arthur's breath, and the ragged "_Merlin_!" that issued from his mouth at intervals...and he thought to himself, _I will never forget this, never, and I will love this bloody infuriating prat forever, and I will stay by his side _**_forever_**_, but he will forget and perhaps that's all for the best_.

"Arthur," he whispered softly, three hours later, but Arthur was sleeping, his steady breathing making warm little puffs against Merlin's throat.

"I'll love you always," he said to the darkness of the bedchamber. His chest ached and his eyes burned with unshed tears, but he deliberately turned his face against the pillow and willed himself to fall asleep, curling himself around the hurt that seemed to radiate from his innermost being.

* * *

**The next chapter will be the last.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Always Read the Fine Print**

About an hour before dawn, when the sky was just beginning to lighten faintly along the horizon, Merlin slipped out of Arthur's bed, dressed, and tiptoed out of the room.

He had steeled himself to get away before the prince could wake to find himself with - horrors! - _Merlin_ in his bed. Gingerly closing the door, he nearly gave himself away by tripping over one of the castle hounds lying asleep in the hall just beyond the threshhold, but caught himself at the last moment by grabbing onto a heavy metal candlestand. That it didn't topple over with an even noisier crash was a minor miracle.

Before racing off to Gaius' chambers he collared one of the young scullions from the kitchen and told him to bring the crown prince's breakfast to him shortly after dawn. And to tell him that Merlin couldn't bring it because he had to help Gaius with some medical problem having to do with...having to do with...those absurd bodyguards locked in the infirmary.

Gaius was sitting up and waiting for him in his workroom.

"Rats!" said Merlin in a panicky sort of voice when he saw the expression on the physician's face.

"Merlin," said Gaius, slowly and ominously, at the sight of his errant young charge. "That makes three nights during which you've been conspicuous by your absence."

"Sorry, sorry," Merlin babbled, "I...it was...Arthur asked me to, erm, there was a problem with, with rats."

"I promised your mother I'd look after you," Gaius went on, frowning. "If there's a young lady involved, I'd advise you to think twice before visiting her again."

"Erm, if there's what?" shouted Merlin, still babbling. "Young ladies?"

"I never said anything about the _plural_," murmured Gaius, shocked. "I said, 'young lady,' meaning _one_."

"Good God," replied Merlin, blankly. "Now_ you_ think I'm a man-whore."

Gaius' frown deepened, but Merlin was saved from what promised to be a stern lecture by the sound of vigorous knocking.

It came from the direction of the infirmary, and with a sigh of profound relief Merlin followed his mentor down the hall, and waited whilst Gaius peered through the little window at the top of the securely-barred portal.

"'ere, physician," complained Sir Fulke loudly, as Gaius opened the door and all six bodyguards came tumbling out, wrapped in bedsheets. "What's all this? Lockin' us up in yer infirmary, like a sorry bunch o' nutters."

"Can you remember what you were doing before you were taken ill?" Gaius asked in a drily professional tone. "Apart from getting incredibly drunk at the wedding feast, that is?"

"Wasn't ill," shouted Sir Fulke, waving his bedsheet. "Wasn't nothing wrong with me, by Jupiter's cock!" he added, betraying the likelihood that some schoolmaster had been able to beat a modicum of classical learning into his head, years ago.

"Well, Merlin," said Gaius, pleased. "It appears they've recovered. Go and find someone to tell the king, will you? Sir Fulke, you and your comrades were suffering from some form of delirium."

"That's bollocks!" rasped Sir Gilbert, totally unconvinced. "I never! Had the marsh sickness last year, I did, and nothing since."

"And why did we all wake up without no clothes on, eh?" fulminated Sir Fulke. "What does that have to do with having the marsh sickness last year?"

"I don't care what any of you had last year," Gaius replied acidly. "You've been in a delirious state for three days, and the less said about it the better, as far as I'm concerned. I believe the king may wish to have a word with you. But you look to be fit for duty, although I would suggest that you have a good wash."

Wilted bits of waterweed were still clinging to Sir Gilbert's hair.

Gaius sent them all off to bathe, and Merlin found a page loitering in the courtyard and told him to inform the king of his bodyguards' newly restored sanity...erm, health. Returning to Gaius' workroom he found the physician pottering about, tending to his potions and elixirs as if nothing had happened. He made no further reference to Merlin's three night absence, only looking him over doubtfully as though his (possibly) scandalous behavior had left a visible mark on him somewhere.

"What do you suppose could have ailed those bodyguards?" he mumbled, as much to himself as to Merlin. "I've never seen anything like it. Some sort of libido-enhancing ague?"

Merlin mumbled a vague reply about having seen them all roaring drunk in the hayloft. He was perfectly happy to have Gaius worrying about the bodyguards, rather than his own presumed transgressions. Time enough later in the day to explain away his absences; he would be able to come up with some story to reassure his guardian. Anything to prevent himself from thinking about Arthur, who had looked so spectacularly gorgeous in the pre-dawn dimness of his bedchamber, his golden hair catching the few gleams of light from embers smoldering in the hearth. Anything to keep busy, so that he wouldn't give in to the temptation to hide in his little room, curl up on his narrow bed and give way to useless regret, or even worse, to self-pity.

His guilty conscience was beginning to get the better of him as well. Even an arrogant prat like Arthur didn't deserve to have fallen under a spell that compelled him to lust after, and then make love to, his country bumpkin of a servant. Merlin felt almost as bad as if he had (perish the thought) taken an innocent girl by force.

"Really, they've always been the most uncouth louts. Nothing like Camelot's other knights. This illness, though - do you suppose it was something in the food?" fretted Gaius, reaching for one of his medical volumes.

Merlin nearly replied, "No, it was something in the wine," but he had already been laughed at by the dragon and had no desire to hear what Gaius might have to say on the subject of accidentally-ingested love potions.

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It was easy enough to keep out of Arthur's way for the remainder of the morning, and in the afternoon the prince set off on a hunt with several of his knights and a handful of squires. He had sent no message to Merlin, and this, if anything, was a sign that events of the past three days had been thoroughly wiped from his memory.

It was fortunate that there were more than enough chores to occupy Merlin for most of the afternoon, as his own very sound memories periodically threatened to overwhelm him. Whilst delivering medications to various castle inhabitants, he happened to pass the freshly washed and dressed bodyguards, who were being escorted to Uther's audience chamber by Sir Leon and Sir Bors. They were looking puzzled and surprised as they listened to a litany of their antics, delivered by a red-faced Sir Leon. Merlin, who had been on the receiving end of Sir Fulke's stupid, callous pranks on several occasions, was tempted to stand outside the door and listen to whatever the king might have to say about their recent behavior.

"_Another_ feast tonight," Gwen said to him when he handed her Morgana's sleeping potion. "I can't believe it. The cooks and kitchen staff are quite upset. And it's an envoy from Bayard of Mercia, of all people."

"As long as it's not Bayard himself," muttered Merlin, his lips twisting wryly. "There's one king who would probably love to see me skewered on the end of his sword. I hope the envoy doesn't remember me."

"Oh, nonsense," said Gwen comfortingly, "If he does, he understands that your accusations were made based on false information. And Bayard knows you nearly died after drinking that wine, and that between you and Arthur it was finally proved that he was innocent of putting poison in the chalice."

"Right," said Merlin sarcastically. "And I'm certain that he loves me for it."

It was no doubt just as well that there would be another banquet that evening, as this would keep the crown prince busy. Merlin retreated to his own room, washed hastily, and dressed in the hated ceremonial garments, _except for the hat_. Then he headed back to the dining hall, dragging his feet a little because the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was to wait on Arthur, pouring his wine, replenishing the food on his plate, and then standing behind his chair in proper servant fashion, looking at the way his blond hair just brushed the back of his collar.

As it turned out, he didn't have to stand behind the prince's chair at all, because the moment the envoy from Mercia saw him, he turned a brilliant shade of crimson and snarled, "You!"

All eyes turned toward Merlin, and Uther said soothingly, "Come now, Sir Baldwin, surely you remember that this boy helped to prove your king's innocence in the matter of that poisoned cup?"

"I am sorry, my lord," the envoy replied stiffly. "I could only recall the insolence with which he accused my liege lord of treachery."

"Ah yes," Uther continued, gesturing to a servant to bring the Mercian envoy a _very large_ goblet of wine. "Boy, you may go; have the steward find Sir Gawain's squire and tell him to attend us."

Merlin swallowed hard and took a step towards the door, his eyes going from Uther's stern face to the crown prince's stormy one.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur snapped, "don't stand there gaping like a total fool, get out! You're excused from duty for the rest of the evening."

Merlin made it through the door in record time, and stalked across the courtyard to the stairway leading to Gaius' chambers, furious and miserable and not caring who saw it.

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Gaius set him to sorting and packaging the entire season's worth of dried herbs, and this relatively mindless work helped to settle Merlin's rattled nerves and injured pride. Fury spent, after more than an hour of tying bundles of herbs together with twine and tucking some of them into little linen bags, he realized that he would have to report to the prince's chambers to ready him for bed.

The dinner for that wretched envoy didn't conclude until quite late, and Merlin waited patiently in the hallway until he heard sounds of the attendees preparing to depart. Then he quietly made his way to Arthur's bedchamber, where he closed the windows, properly banked the fire, lit the bedside candles, and turned down the bed. As it was growing chilly, he left the prince's linen night shifts in the clothes chest, and shook out one of the woolen ones instead, draping it over a chair close to the fire.

"Wool is so horribly scratchy," came Arthur's voice from behind him, making him jump. "God, that was the most tedious feast in all creation. You were well out of it. I see you've forgotten the mulled wine, Merlin, not that it should surprise me."

Merlin bit his tongue so as not to say anything that he would be sorry for later. He didn't particularly mind the insults; he had gotten used to them, and they were usually made in jest anyway. But the cool tone of Arthur's voice (the subtle crooning undertones that had accompanied the enchantment had quite vanished), after the desire and intensity of the past three days, was suddenly heartbreaking. Merlin didn't weep easily, although he realized that in the past year or so he had done more weeping than he had in most of his adult life - for Will, for his mother, for a falsely-accused Gaius, and for that poor dead Druid girl. Now tears were suddenly streaming down his face for what had been (if only briefly) between Arthur and himself.

"Good lord, Merlin," he heard the prince say in an exasperated voice, and then he felt two powerful hands take him by the shoulders. "What's wrong with you, you sodding lunatic!"

Cursing himself for his lack of self control, Merlin lowered his head and sniffled dolefully. Arthur patted his shoulder awkwardly and stepped closer, pulling Merlin against his chest, and Merlin clutched at the prince's shirt as his tears soaked into the heavy fabric.

When he finally raised his head, surreptitiously wiping at the front of Arthur's shirt in the hope that he hadn't ruined it with tears and snot, he found the prince staring at him with consternation.

"I'm sorry I had to speak to you so sharply in the dining hall," Arthur said abruptly. "But I wanted to get you out of there; Bayard's man wasn't looking any too pleased to see you."

"It doesn't matter," Merlin said dully, trying to think of an excuse to leave the room. "You're the prince, you can speak to me any way you please."

"_Mer_lin, you idiot, you know perfectly well there's no way I can acknowledge you publicly, at least not now, not yet."

"Wh-what?"

"And where the devil did you disappear to this morning? When I woke, you were gone."

"Erm..._what_?"

Arthur scowled at the sight of the black-lashed blue eyes swimming with tears, the pallor of the hollow cheeks, the lush lower lip quivering, and he ran one hand up the length of Merlin's throat to just beneath his chin, while he leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.

Merlin took a startled step backward, and at the same moment someone thumped on the prince's door. Rolling his eyes, Arthur drew his hand back and went to answer the knock, leaving Merlin shaken and utterly perplexed by this strange turn of events.

Why had Arthur been about to kiss him? What did he remember? And _why_ should he remember anything?

Arthur was talking animatedly to whoever was at the door, and Merlin scrabbled for the folded bit of vellum in his pocket. Unfolding it with shaking hands, he ran the tip of his forefinger down the lengthy text, through the various testimonials, and past the first two postscripts. The third postscript, written in the tiniest letters of all, so that Merlin had to squint to make it out, read simply: _After three nights of desire, he or she who imbibes the elixir in dilute form shall forget all that has come to pass in that span of time. In one case only will the drinker retain a memory of the things that did take place with the damsel or youth of his desire - and that would be if he or she harbored a secret love for that same person, prior to the influence of the potion._

Merlin sat down hard on Arthur's chair and read the third postscript again. As he reread it for the third time, he heard the door close.

"That was Morgana," Arthur muttered, taking three long strides to within arm's reach of his manservant. "She said I should send for you and _apologize_."

"Erm..."

"Though why I should apologize for getting you out of an uncomfortable situation is beyond my comprehension. Anyway, I already said I was _sorry_," the prince went on, tossing his crimson velvet jacket on the bed and tugging at the fastenings of his embroidered, festive tunic. The golden circlet from his brow was also flung summarily onto the bedclothes. "_Mer_lin, for pity's sake, these laces..."

Merlin got to his feet and began unfastening the laces.

"Does Gaius have any idea of where you've been these past three nights?"

The laces were terribly knotted, and Merlin bent his head over them. But he could feel gladness sweep through his entire body, and an incredible warmth followed, staining his face scarlet. "No, sire, erm, Arthur, I don't think he does."

"We'll have to think of some excuse to satisfy him," Arthur mumbled, kicking off his boots. "And it had better be a good one, seeing as you'll be spending more nights here in future." His heavy gold bracelets were added to the pile on the bed, and the laces of his breeches were finally undone.

"Feeling better?" he asked as his hands went to the front of Merlin's shirt. "I think it must have been the fatigue. God, Merlin, your laces are more knotted than mine. Now, aren't you going to thank me for getting you away from that ridiculous envoy?"

"I would have done, if you weren't such an impossible..."

"Yes, yes, you're going to say 'impossible prat'."

"...impossible _bully_."

"Thanks for the reminder," said Arthur, nibbling on Merlin's ear. "I don't believe I've _bullied_ you properly today. That bit in the dining hall doesn't count. Set that right in no time." He hooked one arm behind Merlin's knees, a first move toward landing him neatly on the bed in the midst of his discarded finery. To his surprise Merlin evaded him; he was no match for Arthur in strength and muscle, but he was quick. This was followed by a grand, sloppy tussle which ended, as it was bound to end, with the two of them entwined and moaning - although on the sheepskin rug rather than the bed. After their second or third round, Arthur managed to climb onto the mattress, hauling Merlin up with him, and they rested for a little while before going at it again.

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Merlin stretched and shifted, and then said, "Ow!" The prince's fingers were still tangled in his hair, pulling.

Arthur yawned and loosened his grip on the spiky black mop. "You were telling the truth, _Mer_lin. You _are_ stronger than you look." He took his hand out of Merlin's hair, but rolled over, half on top of him, as he pulled the bedclothes up.

_Gaius was right_, Merlin was saying to himself, half asleep. _He always said that magic was for emergency purposes only, at least in Camelot, and I will never, ever, ever, use my magic for anything as frivolous as a love potion again._ He wasn't sorry for the help it had given Sir Gareth and his lady, but gods, what if Arthur hadn't loved him to begin with? _He may be insufferable, but I probably don't deserve to have him_, he thought drowsily. _But I do, I have him, and oh, by the gods, it's perfect._

Would he tell Arthur about his magic? Yes, someday. When he was ready to explain it to him, and when Arthur was ready to hear it.

It was plain that whatever Arthur was ready for, it wasn't sleep. He kept fidgeting and getting his legs tangled up with Merlin's. He was yawning, but his eyes were wide open, and there was a thoughtful expression in them that Merlin was not accustomed to seeing on a regular basis.

In truth, Arthur was thanking whatever deity was listening that something, _somehow_, had enabled him to overcome his long-held misgivings about yielding to temptation and actually dare to make Merlin his own. He wasn't certain what it was, that night of the wedding, that had pushed him past the brink of hesitation, but having Merlin in his arms was something he had thought about, secretly, for well over a year. Of course it wasn't just the sex that had him in thrall. Whether he lived to see a hundred or was cut down in battle at half that age, whether he married and sired a brood of princelings or died without issue, whether he became a king of the sort that bards sing about forever or simply followed in his father's footsteps, he could not imagine doing any of these things - could not imagine a life without - this vibrant, frustrating, insubordinate but reassuring presence at his side.

"Mmmfff!" said the presence, squirming. A bony elbow nudged Arthur in the ribs. "Shove over will you, p-please? I can't breathe."

So odd, so unique, so infuriating, so _beautiful_...that was Merlin. And yes, there were things that Arthur wondered about him, little hints at something mysterious, elusive, but never dangerous, at least not dangerous to_ him_. A strangely otherworldly quality, usually hidden, that manifested itself every now and then in the person of this lanky, gawky, awkward daydreamer. Who would never lie to Arthur if he could help it, but (if Arthur's intuition was correct) kept secrets from him nevertheless.

"I think," Arthur half-whispered, sliding sideways to give his companion breathing space, "it may be prudent to move you into the antechamber. It's nice, and much larger than that rabbit hutch you call a bedroom."

"You want me to _live_ in your antechamber?"

"Just for now...until we find something better. Someday...perhaps when I'm king...you could have that massive guest room next door."

"I'll think about it," Merlin replied, reaching for a pillow. "If you promise to hire somebody else to do your laundry when you're king. Don't you remember that you offered to change my job description? As of now, I only have every second Thursday off."

"My but you're greedy," said the crown prince of Camelot. "The things I've let you get away with, these two years! I shall be able to keep a better eye on you now. Oh, and remind me to teach you a bit more court etiquette. I have the feeling you'll be needing it in future. No, Merlin, shut up, I mean it, and that's no fantasy."

"Can it wait until the morning, please," groaned the future Court Wizard, covering his eyes with his forearm. "If I don't get some rest this evening, you'll have to make do with fantasies tomorrow night."


End file.
